BRAM CAUGHT THE LASS as she fell, wondering where in God's name she had come from. He had no doubt that his enemies would stoop to any level to catch him off guard, even sending a woman to do their dirty work.
But this woman, Lily, was soaked to the bone and a knot high on her forehead was already purpling from what looked to be a pretty substantial blow. He felt along her hairline and located a deep cut. That accounted for the bleeding. But it seemed to have stopped and for the moment he had bigger problems.
She was shaking violently, her body almost spasming as her muscles contracted. He'd seen this before. Exposure to this kind of cold, wearing nothing but what looked to be her shift, was dangerous. He could only suppose what kinds of hell she'd been through to arrive at the cottage in such a condition. An accident, she'd said.
She was wearing next to nothing and her slippers, though made of fine leather, were hardly adequate for traveling in the rough terrain that surrounded Duncreag, especially in the midst of a storm like this one. 'Twas possible she lived or worked at the tower. But her hands were soft and her skin unmarred. And the silver bracelet she wore on her arm had been made by the finest of craftsmen.
Nay, despite her state of undress, this was not a peasant. This was a lady. And not one from around here, if he were to have to place a wager on it. He touched the base of her throat with one finger, satisfied to feel the rush of her blood. She lived, but if he didn't get her dry and warm, there was still a chance her condition could turn for the worst. He'd seen people die from exposure in a storm like this.
As if to echo his concern, she moaned and another shudder ripped through her. It was important to get her warm as quickly as possible. He glanced around the cottage. While it was well enough equipped, it was not built for warmth and even with the fire burning, the small room was still cold.
The best way to warm a body quickly was contact with another body. And although he was not the kind of man to lie with a woman without her willing participation, he could see no other course of action.
He walked over to the pallet that served as a bed. A plump mattress sat on a wooden frame covered by a sheet of linen beneath a blanket made from animal fur. Between that and his own body heat, he should be able to help her regain her own. Trying not to think about the softness of her skin or the sweet slope of her breasts, he peeled off the wet clothing, stopping with the odd underthings she wore, slips of colored silk that barely covered her not inconsiderable assets.
He felt his body awakening and forced himself to ignore the growing urgency. This was a woman in trouble, not a barmaid wanting nothing more than a roll in the hay with the laird-to-be.
He swallowed a laugh, the irony of his thoughts not lost on him. Whatever this woman had been through, he could at least in part relate. Less than a fortnight ago he had been the young master. Today he was a hunted man without a clan.
Lily moaned again, but didn't open her eyes. Her breathing was quick and shallow now, as if the cold were pulling it from her body. Bram carefully laid her on the bed. Her lips trembled as her body reacted to the loss of his heat. Quickly he stripped off his garments and climbed onto the bed, and after covering them both with the fur, he pulled her close against his body, her back curled against his chest.
He rested his chin against her hair, the smell of spring flowers teasing him with familiarity. It was almost as if he'd held her like this many times before.
Perhaps he, too, had been addled by the storm.
He smiled and pulled her closer, willing the warmth of his body into hers. He was fairly certain that the bump on her head wasn't dangerous, but unlike his mother, he had none of the healing ways about him.
Lily sighed and nestled into his warmth. And again he was struck by the familiarity of their intimacy. It was almost as if they fit somehow. Two halves of a whole.
He was a bloody romantic fool. She was a lost soul who needed his warmth, nothing more. And he was a man with no room for a woman in his life. Still, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms and legs around her to provide a cocoon of warmth. And even as he sought to give her comfort, she gave it back to him in the soft inhale and exhale of her breathing and the way her fingers curled around his.
For the first time in more days than he cared to remember, he felt at peace—or at least temporarily assuaged. Maybe there was magic afoot tonight, in the wildness of the storm or simply the sweet allure of the woman in his bed. Or maybe he had gone quite mad and this was only a dream. Either way, tomorrow's sun would banish the mists and whatever fantasy the night might have held.
But for now, in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold on.
*****
Lily drifted to consciousness slowly, her first thought that she couldn't remember the last time she felt so safe and secure. She curled her toes, letting the warmth of the bed seep through her. The fire had died down, the room deep in shadows. Outside she could still hear the rain lashing against the roof and windows. With a sigh, she dug deeper into the warmth, simply luxuriating in the comfort, but then memory returned like a sledgehammer.
The car. The cottage. The man.
She struggled to sit up, but strong arms pulled her close as he whispered soft, soothing words. The action was rote; the man was still sleeping and despite the absurdity of the situation, she felt herself relaxing, her body savoring the feel of his skin against hers. There was nothing here to be afraid of. She knew that as clearly as she knew her own name.
The rational part of her brain questioned her sanity, but her heart felt like it was home. She could feel it in the strength of his arms around her and the hot whisper of his breath against her cheek.
And yet he was a stranger.
A stranger who had saved her life.
Or at least gotten her warm again.
Her head still ached, but she was no longer wet and cold. She reached down to cover his hand with hers, and in so doing brushed across her bare breast. She was naked. He shifted against her.
So was he.
A hot blush rushed to her face, but she didn't pull away. There was something so wonderfully decadent in the fact that she was lying here with a stranger. A man who'd stolen her breath when she'd first seen him.
Or maybe that had been the cold, some rational corner of her brain insisted. But she pushed the thought away. Life was for living. If she'd learned nothing else in the wake of her parents' deaths and Justin's defection, it was that the things you loved most could disappear in an instant.
And she wasn't going to lose this moment. Even if it was only fantasy. Because lying here next to this stranger, she felt as if everything was right with the world. As if having him with her was more important somehow than breathing.
Of course none of that made any sense at all. It had to be her brain compensating for the pain. She smiled. If this was compensation, she'd hit the mother lode. She lay for a moment, just relishing the cadence of his breathing and hers. The soft inhale and exhale of breath. Life at its most basic.
In and out, in and out.
And then suddenly she found herself wondering what would happen if she were to roll over. To press herself against him. To open herself to his kisses. To relish the touch of his hands on her body. To feel him moving deep inside her.
The thought was both enticing and insane. God, she wanted him. More than she'd ever wanted a man before. And again the enormity of what she was considering hit her hard. She wasn't the kind of woman to take risks. To throw herself at a stranger.
But then again, look where playing the girl next door had gotten her.
Again she smiled, the wind outside still whipping beneath the eves of the house. Maybe this was just a fantasy. And if that were true, then she'd be damned if she'd wake without knowing at least what he tasted like. There was nothing to be gained in virtue. She was already lying skin to skin with the man.
And besides, she still couldn't shake the certainty that she had done this before. With this man. There was nothing here to be afraid of. No risk. No danger at all. He belonged to her.
The thought startled her, and yet she didn't reject it. Instead, she rolled over.
His face was deep in shadow, but she could still make out the strong line of his jaw. This wasn't a man to trifle with, even in sleep. The thought was fleeting but she knew it to be the truth. And still she wasn't afraid. Slowly, half fearing that he'd disappear, she reached out her hand, brushing her fingers across his cheek.
His eyes opened, and his gaze collided with hers.
She waited, holding her breath, her heart pounding even as her body tightened in anticipation. For what seemed an eternity he looked into her eyes, and then with a groan, he pulled her close, his lips closing over hers, his mouth hungry, demanding.
She opened her mouth, their tongues dueling, her body trembling with the contact. He deepened the kiss, and she drank him in, his taste seeming almost familiar.
"Lily." He whispered her name and she pressed against him, desperately needing to feel his heat.
His lips stroked hers, taking and giving, stirring the fire inside her. The little voice in her head called for her to stop. But God help her, she didn't want to. All she wanted was him. Lightning split the sky, the crescendo of thunder chasing behind it. Where before the storm had threatened her, now, its fury fed her senses. His strong hands cupped her breasts as he kissed her, thumbs circling, desire mixing with pleasure until she could hardly breathe.
"Lily," he whispered again. "Are you sure, then?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice hoarse with desire.
His lips trailed along the line of her neck, shivers of pure passion rocking through her. She pressed against him, wanting to feel closer—to feel a part of him. His lips moved lower, tracing the swell of her breast. She arched upwards, needing more, and he obliged, pulling her nipple into his mouth, the resulting pressure almost her undoing.
She ground her hips against him, offering herself, and he slid his hand lower, his fingers hot as they moved against her skin. While teasing her nipple with his lips and teeth, he slid a finger inside her, the friction setting off shivers of pleasure. She fought for breath even as she pressed closer—wanting more.
His finger moved, in and out, stroking teasing. And then his thumb pressed against her secret spot and she moaned as pleasure surged through her.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered, his breath hot against her breasts, his finger moving in and out, each succeeding stroke deeper, stronger. "Tell me."
"You," she whispered. "Dear God, I want you."
The thunder drowned out her moans as his mouth and his fingers danced across her skin, sensations ratcheting tighter and tighter until she felt herself shatter, pleasure racking through her in shuddering waves.
"Please," she rasped. "Please. More."
Again the thunder bellowed, the cottage shaking, the intensity mimicking her body’s release. Lightning flashed, flickering against his face as he pulled her close, his touch gentle and soothing—almost worshipful. As she trembled against him, he caressed her with murmured words and soft kisses.
For a moment, they stayed like that, his arms around her, their legs entwined, hearts beating almost as one. Then she felt her body awaking, felt desire begin to blossom again. She tipped back her head, offering herself. And he greedily accepted the invitation, exploring every inch of her, leaving nothing untouched.
Trembling with the sheer power of the feelings he evoked, she rolled on top of him, indulging her need to taste him. She'd never felt so reckless and yet so sure of herself. The sounds of the storm played out like a symphony, a soundtrack accompanying the splendor of their lovemaking. She ran her hands along the rugged planes of his body, reveling in the hardened muscles. She traced the line of a scar, then followed her touch with kisses.
And then he straddled her, pinning her with his weight. Catching her gaze, he waited, poised above her, his glittering eyes promising everything. With a sharp intake of breath, she wrapped her legs around him, and with one swift move he buried himself inside her. The pleasure was exquisite, and she pushed against him, taking him even deeper.
There was passion reflected in the depths of his eyes, passion and triumph—and something else, something so tender it almost took her breath away. She lost herself then, in the icy blue depth of his eyes.
"Are you ready, lass?" he whispered, the touch of his breath against her ear almost as sensual as his sinewy movements inside her.
"Yes," she sighed, pressing against him, wanting only to pull him deeper still. "Oh, please. Yes."
His arms circled around her, anchoring her to him as he thrust, their bodies fusing together as he began to move, slowly, almost languorously at first. The movement both tormented and delighted. With a moan, she slammed upward, driving him home, and the fury erupted, the storm reaching crescendo. Still, moving inside her, he slipped a hand between her legs, one finger stroking her core.
She gasped, arching up to drive him deeper, tightening around him, wanting to give him as much as he was giving her. They moved together faster and faster, pumping and thrusting, locked together in their own special dance. With a crash, thunder filled the room, the reverberation echoing off the walls. For a moment they teetered at the edge of the cliff. And then with one last powerful thrust they fell.
His arms tightened around her as white hot pleasure raced through her, her body shaking with the intensity, sensation overriding all rational thought. There was only the two of them together. And even though she knew it was an illusion, she held fast to the dream. There’d be time enough for reality tomorrow.